


Minefield

by queenbaskerville



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, PTSD, The Hounds of Baskerville, War flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbaskerville/pseuds/queenbaskerville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during The Hounds Of Baskerville- because, really, seeing a mine blow up a man isn't the best thing for an army doctor with a bit of PTSD, is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minefield

**Author's Note:**

> Something that could've happened during The Hounds Of Baskerville. They cut away from the scene a bit early, don't you think?
> 
> I'd like to note that I don't have PTSD and I've never been in a situation where someone is having a flashback.

Sherlock runs. He hears the crashing footsteps of his three companions (well, two companions and Henry Knight) around and behind him, but he focuses on Dr. Frankland.

"It's no use, Frankland!" he yells.

Dr. Frankland runs toward the wire fence ahead. Sherlock hears Lestrade telling Henry to keep up, but it barely registers because  _why is there a wire fence there?!_

The reason is made perfectly clear soon enough. Frankland only makes it a few paces before he stops running. Sherlock and the rest continue in their pursuit. Frankland looks down, than looks up again. One of their flashlight beams passes over Frankland's face briefly, which allows Sherlock a glimpse of an emotion [resignation]. _Why? What-_

Then Frankland's lifts his foot and the explosion lights up the night, a booming sound that rocks in their ears. Sherlock skids to a halt, as do the others.

If he'd had a mirror, he would've seen that a vague expression of shock and horror was on his face. Sherlock Holmes had never seen a man blown up before, and neither had Henry Knight or Greg Lestrade. In a corner of his mind somewhere there's a faint remark of "Well, at least the man died and there weren't any limbs flying around," but Sherlock ignores it. He turns around.

Henry knight had leaned up against a tree, a shocked expression on his face. Lestrade looks a bit horrified. John's on the other side of Sherlock, so Sherlock couldn't see his face, but John is John; jumper-loving, tea-drinking, no-cigarettes-for-Sherlock, soothing and kind. He's fine. Sherlock was more ( _but_   _not_   _that_   _much_ , he reassured himself) concerned about the state of Henry Knight and Lestrade.

"Are you alright?" He strides over to Henry, who allows Sherlock to look him over. Henry nods a hesitant affirmative. He blinks a couple times and looks away from Sherlock; probably trying to hold back tears. Sherlock moves to Lestrade.

"How are you?" he asks, grabbing his head and looking into his eyes briefly before letting his gaze roam over Lestrade, looking for any signs of injury. There aren't any.

"Sherlock, let go, I'm fi- _John!_ "

His alarm makes Sherlock jolt, spinning around to see John stumble forward towards the minefield. His right leg seems to be locked up a little. Sherlock runs to him and grabs him by the forearms, heart pounding in his chest and confusion on his face.

"John, that's a minefield, what are you-?!"

"Let me go, she's still alive!" John protests, voice choked with tears. "She's screaming, Jesus, she's not dead, oh god,  _she was just a little girl-_ " and he struggles to push past Sherlock, but he groans when his left arm pushes against Sherlock's body.

_[talking about little girls, right leg locked up (psychosomatic), mine just went off in minefield, groaned, left arm hurts (bullet wound), at an army base today army doctor, Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, nightmares, rarely but traumatized by (my) experiment, PTSD, flashback]_

It only takes Sherlock a second or two to get a grasp of the situation and to snatch the gun out of John's hands and throw it at Lestrade, who dodges it at first, and then reaches down and picks it up out of the grass. Sherlock also lets go of John. It's never a good idea to be seen as a threat when you're with someone having a flashback, and Sherlock's fairly certain that restraining someone could seem threatening.

"Breathe, John, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Damn- I think that's what you do-  _you're the doctor, not me_!"

_[Breathe. Yelling won't help him. Make your voice soothing.]_

"You're on the moor. Near Baskerville. Look at me, John, look at me, focus!"

"Sherlock, what's going on?!" Lestrade rushes over anxiously. John flinches at the sudden movement and Sherlock mentally scolds Lestrade for being so stupid. He scolds him verbally, too, for good measure.

"Stupid, as usual, Lestrade; John is having a flashback." Sherlock's eyes never leaves John's trembling form. John tries to bolt past Sherlock into the minefield and Sherlock launches himself in the doctor's path. He stumbles backwards, falling when his leg twinges with pain (he reaches for it, expression twisting). Sherlock slowly crouches down to get at John's level. Looking down on John may be seen as threatening.

"What?"

"From post-traumatic stress disorder, Lestrade, haven't you heard of it? A mine just exploded. John was in Afghanistan. Really, make some connections! John, there is no girl. There is no one there. You are in Dartmoor." Sherlock reaches a tentative hand out to John, who visibly makes an effort to return to reality. Sherlock cantell.

Lestrade swears, and John flinches.

"Not helping," Sherlock comments through clenched teeth. Lestrade mutters an apology and backed away.

"She's screaming," John murmured.

"There's no screaming. No one is there. On the moor in Dartmoor there is John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade, and Henry Knight. No one else. Breathe, John." Sherlock tries to make his voice as calm as possible. Lestrade has, thankfully, shut up.

John breathed.

John blinks.

John breathes.

John closes his eyes.

John breathes.

John opens his eyes.

" _Sherlock_ ," John whispers, and the relief and anxiety are so very, very prominent in his voice that Sherlock's heart aches. He manages a small smile.

"Welcome back, John."

 

* * *

 

"What the bloody hell was that then?!" Lestrade paces in front of Sherlock anxiously. Henry Knight is at his own home, probably sleeping, and John is sleeping, too, but in the hotel room adjacent to Lestrade's.

"Why did you text me in the middle of the night to come to your room so you could ask me stupid questions?" Sherlock asks, though he doesn't really expect an answer.

"John just had a bloody flashback to bloody _Afghanistan!_ Am I the only one concerned about this?! And that gun he's carrying is probably illegal!" Lestrade swears some more under his breath.

"It's a military gun, Lestrade. He probably snuck it home. He  _was_  in the army. A captain. A doctor. He's seen mines go off and kill people before." Sherlock's voice betrays nothing, monotone and cool.

"And apparently he's seen mines  _not_  kill people, too. Little girls. Jesus. Shouldn't he have a therapist?!" Lestrade slowly lowers his voice, upset anxiety mellowing into concern.

"He did have a therapist. He stopped seeing her. Don't worry so much, Lestrade, this is the first flashback he's had while conscious since he's met me. He's recovering. He's fine. John Watson has nerves of steel." Sherlock wishes he had a violin to play. He's certain that John's having nightmares. Nightmares have grown rarer and rarer for John since he moved into 221B; he'd had them every night for the first week, and then they'd slowly started going away. Sherlock makes certain to play violin when John has nightmares. So far it's calmed him, and he doesn't wake so often.

"Nerves of steel." Lestrade frowns. "Where have I heard that phrase before?"

"How should I know? It's a common phrase, Lestrade." Sherlock lays his head back on the armchair. He's so bored.

"Oh, god, A Study In Pink. John shot the _cabbie_ , didn't he? Bloody hell. _Christ_." Lestrade swears some more. Sherlock looks at him sharply, something like surprise written all over his face. Lestrade notices.

"I'm not as stupid as you think I am, Sherlock. Even if I'm a little slow on the uptake. When you described to me what the shooter was like, you described a man who was a war veteran, someone who had moral codes and nerves of steel, and is a good shot. You then told me to forget everything you said and you went to talk to John Watson about the rent. John Watson: a war veteran who is a great shot, has moral codes and has a gun. And nerves of steel, according to you. 'Shock talking,' my arse. Bloody hell." Lestrade pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Considering that John has saved my life and yours tonight by shooting the dog when _you_ missed, I do believe that you owe him the favor of not arresting him," Sherlock points out. Lestrade swears again.

"Fine. He'd probably get off anyway, the cabbie was dangerous. No point in making trouble. Damn it, Sherlock," Lestrade sighs, "just be careful, alright? I don't want to come to your flat one day and find a bullet in your chest because your flatmate gets twitchy." A pause. "Not to say he's being weak or something. He's not. It's understandable. But this isn't okay."

"Wh-I-I'll be fine." Sherlock stutters. Lestrade is _caring_. That's nice, he supposes. The whole "people caring about your well-being" thing is... nice. He usually only gets that from John and Mrs. Hudson, though occasionally, too, from Lestrade, Molly, and Mycroft (though he isn't sure if it's because Mycroft cares or because Mycroft likes keeping tabs on him).

 

.

 

John does, in fact, have nightmares that night, of a little girl running through a poppy field in Afghanistan and stepping on a mine. Her screams are wild, but covering his ears wouldn't help. Thank goodness Sherlock can hum a good tune. It's not the violin, but it helps.

(It was never really the violin that did it. The player himself has always been the _safe, safe, safe...)_

 


End file.
